Observer or Participant

For most of my life, I’ve been an observer.

That doesn’t mean I was quiet. Or passive. Or lacking ambition.

In fact, for much of my adult life…especially while I was in the military…I was the opposite. I was competitive. Aggressive. Determined to be seen as competent, capable, and, if I’m honest, exceptional. I chased excellence relentlessly. I wanted the awards, the recognition, the validation. I wanted proof that I mattered.

From the outside, it probably looked like participation.

But looking back, I can see the difference.

I did what was expected of me, often very well, but within a system that defined the boundaries of how far I could go long before I ever showed up on the scene. I worked hard. I made changes. I earned accolades. And yet, when it was over, I realized something unsettling: the awards didn’t really matter, the changes likely didn’t last, and the system kept moving exactly as it always had.

I had been highly visible. Highly productive. Highly praised.

And still, in a deeper sense, I was observing…operating inside rules I didn’t choose, pursuing validation that was conditional, temporary, and ultimately external.

That pattern didn’t start in the military. It started much earlier.

From a young age, I was taught, explicitly and implicitly, that I was mediocre at best. That I’d be better off following instructions than taking risks on myself. That attention was something to be earned through performance, not something I was entitled to simply by existing.

So I learned how to read rooms. How to excel within constraints. How to succeed without ever quite claiming ownership of the outcome.

Observation became survival.

What no one really talks about is how comfortable that posture can become.

When you’re an observer, you don’t have to risk wanting something too openly. You don’t have to claim failure as yours. You can work hard, analyze deeply, and still keep a layer of distance…just enough to protect yourself if it all falls apart.

But distance doesn’t protect you from regret.

I’m firmly in middle age now. I’ve walked away from relationships that were corrosive, including my parents and extended family. I’ve chosen a future that looks nothing like the one I was handed. And for the first time, I can see clearly that staying an observer…no matter how accomplished…was never going to be enough.

The shift from observer to participant isn’t about confidence. It’s about agency.

And here’s the thing: I actually do know what participation looks like now.

Securing a publishing deal without a literary agent, without formal creative writing training, without anyone giving me ‘permission’ taught me something fundamental. I was told “no” repeatedly. Dozens of times. That my voice wasn’t compelling enough. That my story didn’t hit the right social or demographic checkboxes. That I didn’t fit in the right demographic. That I wasn’t what the market wanted.

And then an editor read my work. And a publisher believed in it.

That was all it took.

What that experience taught me is this: I can do hard things if I’m willing to be visible. If I’m willing to fail publicly. If I’m willing to hear “no” over and over again and keep going anyway.

This old lady still has some spark in her.

And she still has that eight-year-old girl inside her…the one who stood in Washington, D.C. for the first time, looked at the Capitol and the White House, and knew, with absolute clarity, that she was meant to walk those halls and make a difference.

Even if her own family never believed it.

So yes. I will run for political office.

Plenty of people won’t like me. Plenty won’t vote for me. Some will think I don’t belong there at all.

But some will believe in me.

And if enough do, that’s all it takes.

Participation isn’t about certainty. It’s about consent…to your own ambition, your own voice, your own presence in the world.

I’m done treating the possibility of failure as a reason not to try. Who says I can’t be a fiction writer and a Senator?

Better question: who cares what they say? Because I AM a fiction writer…and I have a feeling there might be more people out there than what the mainstream would like me to think that would vote for somebody like me.

I just have to start with one.